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  • Beqanna

    version 22: awakening


    SOCHI -- Year 207


    "He will inevitably decide that it all fell apart because he had orchestrated it and he will carry the blame like a stone in his chest, too. He will add it to the pile and perhaps, someday when there are enough stones to weigh him down, he will walk into the sea and let them drown him" -- Kensley, written by Savage

    it’s hard to stop what you can’t see, luster

    — I'll break you a hundred different ways —

    There was no discernible reason for him to land on this island. It wasn’t deserted, as he had seen from the skies above. He typically made it a habit to avoid the crowds, or anyone at all, and so it seemed disadvantageous to land somewhere that was clearly inhabited. Perhaps he was just a glutton for punishment.

    However, he had made a point to land a fair distance from what appeared to be the most active location. He had flown until the dots of bodies disappeared, scouting for an area that was deserted. He stood, now, at the farthest northwest point of the island. Even in the midst of winter it was warmer here than the rest of Beqanna. He isn’t sure if he finds that pleasant or not; he didn’t pay attention to most things like that. Just as he did not seem to notice as the salted breeze sifted through the sterling feathers of his wings, and even though he stared out at the waves as they rose and crashed into each other, his eyes looked beyond that.

    Here, at this spot, he stared out to where the sea turned smooth, where the bright blue of the sky melted into the cerulean of the ocean. Despite his wings, he has never flown to see what lays past the break of the waves — the other lands that surely must exist. Whenever he has disappeared, he has allowed himself to be swallowed by the immense forests and mountains of his birthland. Even as she disintegrated and rebuilt herself, time and time again, he remained, though always hidden.

    But something stirred in him as he stared, unblinking, wondering if perhaps it had been a missed opportunity. Outwardly, he was solid and stoic, unvarnished and plain in comparison to most, an unremarkable dapple gray with matching wings. His mind, however, was churning much like the waves, so much so that he did not flinch to move away when he felt another approaching.

    — and I'll make you remember my face —



    Welcome aboard my struggle bus as I try to make him a real character.

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